Page 1 of Ravishing Among the Roses
Chapter 1
The King’s Book Club 1831
Edmund, the Earl of Thwaitepiddle, hated surprises. He utterly loathed them with a passion that almost matched his passion for roses. Sweat dampened his palms and trickled between his shoulder blades as he stood in a room that was most certainly not a book club.
Surprise.
The King’s Book Club was loud and chaotic, with an energetic string quartet playing lively music, and people dancing, and several groups of people lounging in various states of undress on chaise lounges. Two men were kissing as they danced, so openly free that it made Edmund’s skin prickle with ... desire and anticipation.
There wasn’t a book in sight.
Slowly the shock of surprise wore off and he could focus a little again. He didn’t recognise anyone—why would he? He spent no time in town and certainly had never imagined that a place like this might exist. A bright headdress made of ostrich feathers, dyed in lurid bright reds, caught his eye, reminding him of his latest attempts to utilise the Apothecary’s Rose to create a hybrid gallica climbing rose. Whoever was wearing the headdress was having an animated discussion. The person wearing the feathers moved to the side, and oh, that was Lord Bennington being argued with.
Edmund’s feet moved before he thought about it.
“Bennington. You invited me to a book club.” This was, most definitely, not a book club.
“This is the King’s Book Club. We cater to an audience who desires something outside society.”
“And you invited me?” Edmund had been so careful to never let anyone know that he preferred men.
“You are new to town. A famous recluse,” Bennington looked amused at the notion and Edmund curled his fingertips into his palms. It wasn’t an explanation, and then Bennington offered one freely. “I watched you at Hedgmont’s soiree being squired around by your brother. His Grace commands much attention and maybe that’s why you let your gaze follow the men in the room, and there are, after all, so many young men to notice.”
Edmund stayed as still as possible, while hauling in a deep breath through his nostrils. How could Bennington be so open about this topic?
“Was it obvious?”
“No.” Lord Bennington shook his head in reassurance. “I am somewhat experienced in the art of finding the right people for our little club.”
Edmund breathed a little slower. Maybe this wasn’t a disaster.
“Of course, your brother knows.”
Edmund hadn’t wanted to admit that—not even to himself—but as soon as he’d stepped into this club, he’d connected his brother’s earlier snide statement about the book club being for people like him with this open display of sodomy and fear froze the sweat on his spine. He gulped.
“He says it’s time I found a wife.” Edmund was not going to blurt out that his brother had threatened to rip out his rose gardens if he didn’t cooperate. The Duke loved to wield information like a weapon and this was so deeply personal that Edmund hadn’t dare tell anyone, especially not his brother. The very idea that he knew, or suspected, made Edmund’s heart race erratically. He really didn’t need to give his brother more leverage over his life.
“There are several women here of a sapphic persuasion who could do with the protection of a marriage.” The person wearing the feathers spoke and Edmund held his breath. Bloody surprises, he’d gone and said far too much in front of a stranger. Could he blame the shocking reality of this book club having nothing to do with goddamned books? He’d spent near on thirty years being so very careful, only to have it undone by Lord Bennington’s invitation to a book club.
“Gabby, you can’t spring a lavender marriage on a stranger. What if Lord Thwaitepiddle is not worthy of being a protector?” Bennington’s teasing note tugged at too many memories, too many times when he’d been told he wasn’t worthy, and it started to reverberate in his ears like a church bell rung too close to one’s skull.
The feathered person raked their gaze up and down Edmund’s body, leaving him hot all over. How was it even possible to feel so much from a look?
“Oh, he looks like he’d do a fabulous job at protection.” The teasing note in this person’s voice was discombobulating. Edmund would much rather be forced to join an actual book club and read something dull like a hymn book, than be thoroughly confused by this evening and that person. He stared. The top half of the person’s face was covered by an elaborate Venetian mask, although he could see dark brown eyes staring back at him. Edmund had never seen anything like it. The feathered head dress reminded him of his new climbing cultivar, Aimee Vibert, in the height of summer, covered in a multitude of white blooms. If he could combine it with the Apothecary, it would have the same colourful joy. So far it eluded him, and he’d written to his friend Jean-Pierre Vibert about the tribulations of his efforts.
“Gabby. Don’t tease the guests,” Bennington admonished.
“Bosh. You employ me to tease the guests. What makes this one special?”
Edmund wanted to shake his head and say that he wasn’t special at all, but his ability to talk had disappeared in a haze of overstimulation. He did the only thing he could. He left. He had to find somewhere quiet to calm himself down, but everywhere he looked there were people and noises and he wanted to clamp his hands over his ears and hide under his father’s desk like he used to as a child.
Suddenly there was a slight pressure on his elbow, tight enough to help, and he let himself be guided into an empty room. The door shut behind him with a soft thunk that clanged through his brain. He closed his eyes.
“It’s quieter in here. Come back out when you are ready.”
“Stay.” Edmund blinked to focus his eyes again. It was the feathered person, who nodded once, then took off the mask and head dress. Under all that colour was a man, wearing a dress, or perhaps more accurately, a nightgown with loose fabric that drew Edmund’s attention to the man’s lean muscles. The man was perfectly his type, slender and flexible with his hip cocked to the side. He looked like he’d walked in from the spice trail, from somewhere in East Asia with dark hair and sparkling brown eyes and his mouth. Hell. His mouth was soft with plush lips that Edmund wanted to touch. If he touched that helpful expression, maybe he’d feel some peace too. Edmund closed his eyes again and slowly ran through his latest breeding charts. It soothed him, thinking about patterns, and he could feel his body calm down and the panic subside. Eventually he realised that this man had known to help him find a quiet space, and that he’d waited in silence as Edmund had settled himself.
“How did you know?”
